Page 74 of His Orders

“I’m on it,” I say, already moving toward the staff exit. “But first, I need to handle something. I’ll call you as soon as possible. Stay inside, Ivy. For your safety.”

I hang up before she can protest.

The city churns around me as I drive, streets flashing by in streaks of yellow and steel, the weight of the moment settling into my spine with every turn. Mason meets me in the same back office where we’ve been piecing this mess together, a dim, windowless space above a mechanic’s shop with a single table, two chairs, and a bulletin board plastered with printouts and photos that look more like the start of a conspiracy theory than an investigation.

“You’re early,” Mason says without looking up, tapping at his laptop with the same intensity he used when he worked undercover for the Valleria PD. “I take it the bastard finally made a move?”

“He’s back to messaging her,” I say, tossing my phone onto the table. “And this time, he made it personal. We’re out of time.”

Mason’s fingers freeze over the keys, then start flying again. “Then let’s finish this.”

We’ve been building a case for weeks. Quietly. Carefully. The Holt family has influence rooted so deep in this city that it’s practically part of the sewer system. Their fingerprints are on every committee, every board, every cushy real estate deal with no questions asked. But Daniel’s mistake is that he’s never learned how to cover his tracks completely. He’s sloppy in a way only men who think they’re untouchable ever are.

Mason pulls up a file and spins the screen toward me. “We have a breakthrough.”

He leans back, a rare smile tugging at the edge of his mouth. “I just got off a call with Captain Elena Molina. She’s new at the top, just promoted to internal affairs, and she came in swinging. Her first internal memo was about rooting out patterns of abuse and protecting women who’ve been failed by the system. That shook a lot of dust loose.

“Two other women had filed complaints against Daniel in the past, but they were too afraid to come forward. Molina’s appointment changed that. They reached out again last week. Elena Molina met with them last night. Quiet, sealed reports. Both had paper trails. Restraining orders. Documentation. He broke every line they drew, and one of them had a private investigator trailing her ex for months. That trail leads straight to Holt’s front door.”

It’s more than I hoped for. More than I dared to believe we could gather in time.

“What about the pharmaceutical angle?” I ask.

Mason flips his laptop around. “The psych ward nurse we flagged finally came through. Garrow. She corroborated everything about the Auralis trial, including internal emails and an invoice trail that never made it to accounting. Holt’s name is not directly on anything, but the shell accounts are. And we’ve linked them to Daniel’s personal credit line.”

That seals it. The money, the intimidation, the repeated harassment. The man is a walking criminal case in tailored suits.

“Elena’s looped in the VPD commissioner,” Mason adds. “He’s had his eye on Holt’s family for years. The only reason they never nailed him is a lack of witnesses. That excuse just died.”

My knuckles crack as I flex my hands. “Good.”

“What’s the move?”

I look down at the photo of Ivy still tucked in my phone case. “He won’t meet with me directly,” I say. “He’s not that stupid.”

“Then we get him to think it’s her.”

I nod once, the plan forming faster now. “She’ll make the call. Set the time, the place. You’ll make sure the perimeter is clean.”

“I’ll bring Elena,” Mason says. “Plainclothes, unmarked car. Let him hang himself.”

Mason nods once and begins printing everything we’ll need—paperwork, copies of texts, wire transfer records, the statements from both women redacted and prepared for police submission. “I’ll be with Molina within the hour. Once she signs off, we move.”

By the time I leave, the city is dark again, the quiet hum of it low and watchful. I pull out my phone, scroll until I find Ivy’s name, and call.

She answers immediately. Her voice is soft. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say. “But I need you to do something for me.”

“Anything.”

“Text Daniel. Ask him to meet you. Somewhere neutral. Public but quiet. Let him think you’re wavering, that you just want to talk. He won’t say no.”

There’s a pause on the other end. “And then?”

“Then I take it from there.”

Her breath catches, but she doesn’t argue. She just says okay, and the line goes quiet. Minutes later, her reply comes via message, and it makes me take a deep breath in. The plan is in motion.

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